


Vacation

by StraightShooter (MsLadySmith)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Control, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12528840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/StraightShooter
Summary: More Mystrade.Greg takes Mycroft on vacation.  Mycroft thinks he'll hate it.  Mycroft is wrong.





	Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> I think writing these stories are my outlet, since my other writings are all PG-13. I admit it, I'm enjoying writing erotica. I don't feel like I'm very good at it yet, though - creative and constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Greg and Mycroft sat quietly on the porch swing of the cabin, the cool autumn breeze dusting leaves across the pathway.  The lake was almost smooth, with the occasional ripple sparkling in the dwindling light. 

"This trip is supposed to be relaxing, love," Greg said soothingly, gently rubbing Mycroft’s shoulder.  "You're wound tighter than an 8-day clock."

Mycroft grumbled, "There's no cell phone reception here, Gregory."

"You don't _need_ cell phone reception here," Greg chided.  "You're not supposed to be working.  The empire will not fall if you're away for a few days."

"I guess we'll be finding out, won't we?"

Greg sighed.  "OK, ok... tomorrow, we can head into town.  I need to pick up some groceries, anyway, and you can check in with the office, if that will make you feel better.  OK?"

"Thank you, dear."  Mycroft leaned over and kissed Greg on the temple.

"In the meantime, stop thinking so much.  It's distracting."  Greg cupped Mycroft's cheek in one hand, and kissed him, long and languorous.  Mycroft sighed, relaxing into the kiss.  Greg put his arm around him, and they held each other, enjoying the sunset together.

The sun dipped behind the hills, and Greg started to rise.  "It's going to get cold tonight.  I should get a fire going."  With that, he picked up some wood off the stack, and headed indoors.  Mycroft grabbed a few pieces as well and followed.

The cabin was simple.  There was a small eat-in kitchen in one corner and a fireplace on the far end with a couch in front of it.  The bedroom, as it were, was simply a bed surrounded by a privacy curtain instead of a wall.  The loo was in the corner across from the kitchen.  While the cabin did have electricity and running water - Greg figured going totally primitive would have made Mycroft flat out refuse to come on this little trip - there was no TV, no internet access, and no cell phone reception.  Greg also brought a small CD player and a selection of music he knew that Mycroft would enjoy.

While Greg got a fire going, Mycroft set up plates for dinner.  Since the cabin wasn't really stocked and they knew they would be arriving late, they had brought sandwiches along for the first night, as well as some pastries for breakfast.  Tomorrow's grocery trip would provide the rest of the meals and necessities.

After dinner, the men sat on the couch in front of the fire, which was giving a pleasant warmth to the room.  Mycroft poured them each a glass of brandy, and handed one to Greg.  "I came prepared," Mycroft answered Greg's unasked question. 

"Such a Boy Scout," Greg quipped. 

Mycroft sniffed.  "Hardly.  My idea of 'roughing it' means going without room service."

"Well, I'll see what I can do to make your stay more pleasant."  Greg laughed.  As he sipped his brandy, his hand wandered to Mycroft's knee.

Mycroft looked at Greg's hand, his eyebrow raised.  Greg saw concern wash over Mycroft's expression, and quickly moved his hand away.  "Sorry," he muttered.  

"No, Gregory, it's all right," Mycroft said nervously, taking a long drink of his brandy.  "You just surprised me a little."

Greg smiled, and put his arm around the younger man, pulling him close and kissing him gently. 

“So, Mycroft, when was the last time you went on holiday?”

“Well, I was in Paris last month…”

Greg interrupted.  “If you were working, it doesn’t count as a holiday,” he scolded.

“Oh.  Then it would likely be a trip to Scotland with our parents, before I headed off to university.”

Greg rolled his eyes.  “So, it’s been years, then.”

“Yes.  I prefer to keep myself occupied.”

“You’re more like your brother than I realized.  That brain in your head is never quiet, is it?”

“No.  I’ve grown accustomed to it.  Unlike my brother, I don’t need pharmaceutical assistance to manage it.”

“And thank God for that.  I’m not sure I could deal with you strung out on whatever cocktail he chooses.”

Their glasses empty, Greg got up and added a couple good-sized logs to the fire for the night.  “That should do it for tonight, I hope.”

Greg pulled pillows and an extra down comforter for himself from the window seat.  "Since we've only got the one bed, I planned to sleep on the couch.  God knows I did it enough in my younger days, when Dad brought me out here to go fishing.  The bed should have plenty of blankets, but let me know if you need more – we’ve got plenty of extras.”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then opened the bedroom curtain.  “Good night, Gregory.”

“Good night, Mycroft.” 

* * *

 

Greg was up first the next morning, the sunrise through the window jarring him awake.  His neck protested last night's sleeping arrangement the loudest.  _I guess I never noticed how damned lumpy this couch was when I was young and flexible_ , he thought to himself, gently stretching out the kinks in his aching body.  He looked through the open bedroom curtain to see Mycroft still asleep, his face serene.  That look made him happy.

Quietly, he got dressed and went to the kitchen to start some coffee.  Mycroft's version of preparedness involved luxuries; Greg's version involved coffee and nicotine patches.

Mycroft woke up to the smell of fresh coffee.  He sat up in bed to see Greg, in jeans and a cream jumper, pouring coffee.  Greg looked up and smiled.  “Good morning, Mycroft.  Coffee?  I don’t think I have any tea.  We can buy some this afternoon.”

“Coffee suits.  Two sugars and milk, if we have any.”

“Sorry – no milk.  We’re roughing it, remember?” Greg snickered.  Mycroft rolled his eyes and laid back down.

Greg set the pastries on the table and sat down.  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he called to Mycroft.  “I don’t deliver.  You’re going to have to come to the table for breakfast.”

Mycroft groaned, and swung his legs out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers.  He sat down heavily in a chair at the table.  He wrapped both hands around the hot coffee mug and stared deeply into it, as though he were desperate to find an answer there.

Greg smiled to himself.  “How did you sleep?”

Mycroft took a big sip of coffee, grimacing at its bitterness.  “Fitfully.  It’s too quiet for me, I’m afraid.  I’m too used to city noise.” 

“You’ll get used to it, if you come out here regularly,” Greg said, taking a bite of a pastry.  “I did bring music for you.  It’s not traffic and train whistles, but it might help.”

“I may try that tonight.” 

“Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll head into town.  Walking around and getting some fresh air will do you good.”

Mycroft nodded numbly, and went back to the ‘bedroom’ to change out of his pyjamas.  He selected a pair of dark jeans and a light blue button-down shirt.  He slipped on a pair of trainers, and met Greg at the car.  The men drove into town in silence, pulling up to the small general store.

“If you walk across the street toward the library, you should be able to get decent cell reception,” Greg said.  “I will head into the store and pick up a few things.  Any special requests?”

“Just some decent tea.  And milk.”

Greg nodded.  “Will do.”

Mycroft started to walk toward the library – no real need to look for oncoming traffic in this tiny village – and checked his phone.  Three bars.  _That should suffice._   He connected, and checked his e-mail.  After two days out of touch, he probably had a lot of catching up to do.

There were no e-mails waiting for him.

 _Anthea is_ deliberately _keeping me out of the loop - probably Gregory's doing, to facilitate this little vacation.  She forgets who she works for..._

Mycroft jammed his phone back into his pocket, and headed back to the store.

Greg was in the produce section, picking up the makings of a salad.  “Oh, hello, love.  Any e-mail?” He barely suppressed a conspiratory grin.  Mycroft glared. 

 _So it seems Anthea’s part of the plan has worked…_ Greg thought to himself.

“Why don’t you pick out some fruit?”  Mycroft walked over to the large bin of apples, and selected a pair of nicely-sized red ones, putting them into Greg’s basket.

Picking up a loaf of bread, Greg headed for the cash counter.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sibley!” he smiled at the elderly woman behind the counter.  She eyed him for a moment, then had a flash of recognition. 

“Greg Lestrade?  Goodness, I haven’t seen you in ages!  How are you, young man?  Still with the London police force?”

Greg blushed. “Yes, ma’am.  Detective Inspector, now.”

“My, my!  And how are you doing otherwise?  Married?”

Greg’s attitude shifted a little. “I was, but not anymore.  But I’m happy.”  He smiled, glancing in Mycroft’s direction.  The elderly woman nodded knowingly, but said nothing.

Mrs. Sibley rang up their purchases, including the newspaper that Mycroft grabbed at the last minute, and bagged everything up.  “How long will you be in the area?”

“Oh, just a few days.  We needed a break from the city.” Greg smiled.

“Best place to do it, I’d say.  Well, you boys have a good stay.  Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Will do, Mrs. Sibley.  It was great to see you again.”  Greg gave the woman a brief hug, and the men left the shop.

* * *

Arriving back at the cabin, Greg and Mycroft brought in the groceries, and Mycroft busied himself putting things away, while Greg got started on dinner.  He had picked up two nice steaks at the store, and set about getting the barbecue grill up and running.  He didn’t do a lot of cooking, but at grilling, he was a master.

Mycroft picked at his dinner, lost in thought.  Greg looked at him, concerned.  "Something wrong, love?  Steak not cooked right for you?"

"No, no, Gregory, it's fine.  I'm just over-thinking things, as usual."

Greg reached across the table and touched Mycroft's hand.  "Anthea can keep things under control for a few days.  John can manage Sherlock.  You need to relax," he said.

Mycroft pulled his hand away.  "I'm just not used to this, Gregory," he growled. 

"That is the control-freak in you talking, Myc."  Mycroft flinched at the diminutive.  _That wasn't good - better avoid that for now._   Greg cleared his throat and continued.  "Look, taking a few days off now and then is actually healthy.  Ask John - he'll back me up on that."

"Of course, he would," Mycroft sneered.  He knew that Greg was right, but the lack of control he was feeling was so unnatural to him, he wasn't sure how to handle it.

The meal continued in silence.  Mycroft spoke up.  "The steak really is excellent, Gregory.  You certainly know your way around a grill." 

Greg swallowed his wine and looked at Mycroft.  "Good to know my barbecue skills are appreciated."

* * *

After dinner, the two of them quickly cleaned up the kitchen – Greg washed, Mycroft dried – and sat down in front of the fire.  Greg put on some classical music that Mycroft enjoyed, and they relaxed on the couch, Greg’s head leaning on Mycroft’s shoulder as they listened.  Between their full bellies and the soothing music, they both relaxed into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Mycroft woke before dawn.  He and Gregory had fallen asleep on the couch.  _God, this is the most uncomfortable couch ever_ , he thought to himself.  _How can Gregory stand it?_ The fire had died down, with only a few embers still glowing – the cabin was decidedly cold.

Mycroft slipped out from under Greg's arm, taking care not to wake him, and pulled the down comforter over him.  Greg mumbled, grabbed the comforter and curled into it, still asleep.  Mycroft then climbed into the bed, relishing the softness.  He lay quietly in bed, wide awake, listening to the ambient sounds of the isolated area.  _Maybe Gregory is right.  Maybe I could get used to the quiet._ At some point, he drifted off.

* * *

Sunlight came through the window, warming Greg’s face.  He realized he was on the couch alone.  _Weren’t we together on the couch last night?_ He smiled to himself, remembering how pleasant their evening was, snuggling together, kissing... he broke out of his reverie as certain parts of his body remembered the evening more fondly than others.  _No, no, NO!_  he thought.  Mycroft seemed so uncomfortable with their relationship – painfully shy about it.  This was not something that could be rushed.

Greg looked over at the bed, and saw that Mycroft was bundled up in the blankets, sleeping soundly.  He grabbed a towel, and slipped barefoot out the door, headed toward the lake.

Greg walked to the end of the small pier, and took a deep breath, breathing in the chill air.  He made quick work of his clothes, folding his shirt and jeans somewhat neatly and setting them on the decking, alongside the towel.  He looked around and shrugged – _one of the best things about this cabin is its isolation_ – and decided that skinny-dipping was acceptable.  He shimmied out of his pants and lay them with the other clothes. 

The cool autumn breeze did nothing to quench the heat in his loins.  _Only one solution left_ , he sighed, and dove into the frigid lake.

He surfaced rapidly with a shout.  _GOD DAMMIT!  This water is COLD!_   he thought, trying desperately to keep the words from pouring out of his mouth at full volume. He really didn’t want to attract attention when he was this far away from his clothing.  The water was almost painfully cold, but at the same time, exhilarating.  His heart pounded with the temperature change, and his cock finally lost interest.  _Mission accomplished._

Greg tread water for a few minutes, calming his breathing and warming his muscles with the exertion, then swam back to the pier and climbed out.  He hurriedly dried off and got dressed before the chill air could bite even further into him.  He sat on the end of the pier, gazing across the calm water, letting the serenity of the moment soak into him.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Mycroft walk up behind him, and was startled when his jacket came to rest over his shoulders.  Gratefully, he slipped his arms into it and looked up, to see Mycroft smiling down at him.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“If that inhuman screech was you, then yes, you did,” Mycroft replied.  “You know, diving into such cold water is dangerous, especially for a man your age.  Rapid submersion in cold water, combined with holding one's breath, can cause potentially fatal –“

“You sound like your damned brother,” Greg snapped. _If only you knew why I needed that ice-water dip, love._  The crest-fallen look that crossed Mycroft’s face made him immediately regret his irritation.  He took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  Your concern is duly noted.  I will be more careful.”

Mycroft sighed.  “Coffee should be ready shortly,” and with that, he turned and headed back to the cabin.

“I’ll be right there.” 

* * *

Greg walked into the cabin to find a steaming cup of coffee on the table for him, and Mycroft humming as he moved around the kitchen.  “I didn’t know you cooked, Mycroft.”

“Yes, I do on occasion.  Better for the waistline than take-away.  How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled is fine.  Thanks.”  Mycroft nodded.

Several minutes later, Mycroft set two plates of eggs, sausage, and toast on the table, and refilled Greg’s coffee mug.

“This looks great!” Greg said, tucking into his meal.  “And it tastes even better than it looks!”

Mycroft beamed.  “Thank you, dear.  It was my pleasure.”

* * *

After breakfast, they lazed about the cabin for the rest of the morning. 

Around lunch time, Greg busied himself gathering up a few things, and tucked them into a day pack.

“Get your hiking boots on, Mycroft.  We’re going out.”

Mycroft looked up from his book.  Greg waited by the door a little bit impatiently, until Mycroft was ready to leave.  Greg took the lead, following a steep winding path through the sparse forest.

“Do you have a specific destination in mind, dear?” Mycroft asked, a little breathless as he struggled to keep up with the older man. 

“There’s a little meadow overlooking the lake.  Not much farther.”  Greg strode on confidently through the trees.

Soon, the trees opened up into a small clearing that had a huge ash tree in the middle.  Greg stopped and took a deep breath, like the air in the meadow was rejuvenating.  A sense of peace washed over him.  _This is_ Greg’s _place_ , Mycroft thought.

They spread out the blanket near the ash tree, and pulled out a couple of sandwiches and the apples. Mycroft poured two cups of tea, and handed one to Greg.

“This is a lovely little glade, dear,” Mycroft commented, finishing his sandwich.

“I started coming up here when I was a teenager.  Dad and I used to come up to the cabin for weekend fishing trips, after he and Mum split up.  Dad was a right bastard when he drank.  He loved the bottle more than us.  A few months after they split, he claimed to have cleaned up his act, so I got to visit him on weekends again.  Of course you know, addicts are really good liars."

A look of concern crossed Mycroft's face as he listened.

Greg continued.  "At least he wasn’t violent, but damn, he was an angry drunk.  First time we came up here for the weekend – I was about 14, I think - I waited until he'd passed out, and went through all the cabinets and poured all the booze down the drain.  He was _livid_ the next day.  Every trip after that, I would recheck the cabinets, but he would still manage to be drunk by the second day.  Pretty sure he was bringing a bottle with him, but I never had the guts to look through his suitcase."

“Whenever Dad was having a particularly bad day, I would come up here to avoid him for a while,” Greg said wistfully.  “Some nights, I’d lay out in the middle of the field and count the stars, or climb up into the ash’s branches and just sit and listen to the wind.”

"Now that he's gone, I can finally come up here and really relax.  One of the few good things I got from the man, I think."  Greg sipped his tea thoughtfully.

Mycroft set down his empty cup and stroked Greg's arm gently.  "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Gregory.  We are each a result of our collective experiences.  If he hadn't been the way he was, you wouldn't be the way you are.  You probably wouldn't have found your way into my brother's life.  And subsequently, into mine."  He planted a soft kiss on Greg's cheek, and laid down, resting his head on Greg's lap.

Greg smiled.  "Yeah, I suppose knowing how to deal with an addict was a big factor in me being willing to pull your brother's arse out of the fire."  Mycroft nodded sleepily.  The broken sleep over the past few days had started to catch up with him, and his eyes slowly drooped.  Greg's fingers played lightly along his neck and shoulder, and he sighed, drifting off to sleep. 

 _I'm glad you are finally willing to relax, love._   Greg thought.  He leaned back on the ash tree, and closed his own eyes, as well.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Greg opened his eyes.  Mycroft was no longer in his lap, but sitting across from him, reading the newspaper he had picked up yesterday.  He glanced up when Greg stirred.  "This spot is very peaceful.  Thank you for sharing it with me, Gregory."

Greg stretched.  "What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"  Mycroft closed the paper and folded it, tucking it into the day pack.

Greg looked at him, surprised.  "That's not like you at all, love.  Your whole life is on a time table."

"Maybe it doesn't need to be that way all the time," Mycroft smiled softly.

"Well, this is a side of you I thought I'd never see!" Greg said with a self-satisfied grin. 

"That was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

Greg flinched a little.  "Am I in trouble?"

"No, not this time... though I may have words with my mutinous assistant when we return," Mycroft scowled half-heartedly.

"Now, now... don't be too hard on the girl.  You know I put her up to it."

"Yes, but she didn't have to be so damned efficient about it.  Do you know how long it's been since I went 48 hours with no e-mails?"

"If she weren't efficient, love, she wouldn't be your assistant," Greg winked.

Mycroft's lips curled into a smile.  "True that, dear.  True that."  He rose, putting his hand out to help Greg up as well. 

Greg took his hand and stood up.  "We should be heading back.  It is starting to get a bit chilly."  They gathered up the remains of their picnic, and walked back down the hill to the cabin.

Neither of them was terribly hungry, so they opted for sandwiches and a small salad for dinner.  After dinner, Greg built up the fire to ward off the morning chill.  With a yawn, he grabbed the comforter and pillows and headed for the couch.  Mycroft caught his arm.  “You know, Gregory, that couch is truly awful.  There is room for both of us in the bed.”

Greg looked at Mycroft, trying to read his expression, and having no luck at it.

Mycroft put his arms around Greg’s shoulders, and pulled him close.  “Gregory,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.  “ _Come to bed with me._ ” 

Greg shivered.  He heard _that_ message loud and clear.

* * *

Greg didn’t even realize they were moving until he felt the mattress hit the backs of his legs.  He was too lost in the feeling of Mycroft’s lips against his, their tongues clashing, hands wandering.  Mycroft grabbed the collar of Greg’s shirt forcefully, a small whine escaping from their joined lips.  He made quick work of the buttons, and bared Greg’s shoulders, his lips and teeth now tracing down the side of his neck.  Greg moaned at the attention, reached up to untuck Mycroft’s shirt, and slid his hands beneath it.  Mycroft paused, relishing the feeling of Greg’s fingers running across his chest.  He pulled away just long enough to take the shirt completely off, Greg’s hands never leaving him. 

Mycroft put his hand on Greg’s chest, and gently pushed him back onto the bed.  Greg lay there for a moment, panting, his arousal evident.  “Those jeans are sexy, dear,” Mycroft said with a gleam in his eye, “but they do look rather uncomfortable.”  He rubbed his palm up Greg’s thigh and across the prominent bulge, causing Greg’s breath to hitch.

Greg quickly undid his jeans, managing to shimmy out of them without moving too far from Mycroft’s touch.  Mycroft leaned over Greg, nibbling and sucking his nipples as his nimble fingers ran through the hair on his chest, and traced lower.  Greg nearly cried out when Mycroft’s fingers touched the waistband of his pants, and stopped there, teasing. 

“Please…” he pleaded.

“Tell me what you want,” Mycroft purred in his ear, his hands tantalizingly close.

Greg could hardly breathe.  “Touch me…” he gasped.

Mycroft’s lips curled.  “Touch you… like this?” as he slid his hand inside the waistband and ran his hand down Greg’s length, causing him to arch his back in pleasure.

Greg whined in dismay as Mycroft’s hand moved away.  “No… don’t stop…” he breathed.

“Now, Gregory, don’t be selfish…” Mycroft scolded playfully, nibbling on Greg’s ear.  Greg opened his eyes to see that Mycroft was taking off his own jeans and was climbing into bed alongside him. 

Mycroft hooked one finger on Greg’s waistband and pulled down.  Greg took the hint and pulled the pants off, his cock springing free.  His eyes closed, and a moan came from deep inside him when he felt a warm breath on his cock, and he cried out when Mycroft’s tongue swirled around it. 

Greg tentatively ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, earning an approving (and delicious feeling) moan from Mycroft.  Mycroft’s head bobbed lower, taking more of him in, and his hands stroked Greg’s inner thighs, which trembled at the attention.

“Please…” Greg begged.  “I need…”

Mycroft looked up at Greg, and released him, slowly licking his way back up to his ear.  “Tell me what you need.”

Greg opened his deep brown eyes and stared into the ice blue ocean of Mycroft’s.  Without breaking the gaze, his hand slid down Mycroft’s body, smoothly under the waistband of his pants, and wrapped around his shaft.  Mycroft’s eyes closed, and he groaned, his hips bucking against the attention.

Mycroft kissed Greg fiercely, and his hands busied themselves getting rid of his last offending piece of clothing.  He firmly grabbed Greg’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock.  “Stop,” he growled.  Greg shuddered at the commanding tone.  “If you continue, we will be finished before we start.” 

Mycroft nibbled and licked his way back down Greg’s body, settling in between his thighs again.  He eased one of Greg’s legs up over his shoulder, and gently caressed his arse, while his tongue sent electric shocks through Greg’s cock.  His fingers caressed Greg’s entrance, and he tensed up.  Mycroft stopped.  “Is this OK, Gregory?” he asked, worry in his voice.

Greg hesitated.  “Yeah… it’s just been a while, is all.  Slow and gentle, hm?”

Mycroft smiled, “Of course, dear.  Just relax” he cooed, his tongue returning to working its magic on Greg’s cock.  A well-lubricated finger – _when did he get the lube?? –_ teased its way into Greg, pressing and twisting, sending shivers through him.  It was frustratingly close to that bundle of nerves that could drive a man over the edge with just a stroke.  A second finger joined the first, stretching him even further, and then a third.  Mycroft mouth and tongue moved in tandem with his fingers, driving Greg out of his mind with passion. 

“Oh God, Myc…  Fuck me.  Fuck me now!  Please!” he cried out.

Mycroft sat up.  “I love hearing you beg for it, Gregory,” he smiled lustily.  His own cock was painfully hard.  He pulled his fingers away, slipped on a condom, and applied more lube.  He positioned himself at Greg’s entrance and slowly pushed in, as they both moaned in ecstasy.

Mycroft stopped, savouring the feeling of being fully inside his lover.  He kissed him roughly, as Greg whimpered beneath him.  He grabbed both of Greg’s wrists, holding them firmly to the bed with one hand, while his other hand began to stroke Greg’s cock.  Greg’s eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, looking into Mycroft’s eyes, seeing the power - the _control_ \- the man had over him right now, and relishing it.  Slowly, gently, Mycroft began to move, sliding nearly all the way back before pushing back in, eliciting moans from them both with each stroke.  Soon, the pace was maddeningly slow for Greg.

“Harder now, Myc…  Fuck me like you mean it,” Greg growled, wrapping his legs around Mycroft’s waist.

Mycroft grinned, and obliged him, shifting slightly, brushing that bundle of nerves with each stroke.  Greg’s eyes rolled back and his back arched, as every fiber of his being trembled, finally shattering as his orgasm swept over him.  Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hips roughly with both hands and thrust deeply, his own orgasm taking him a moment later.

Mycroft rolled off Greg, removing the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket.  They lay there for several minutes in the after-glow, trying to catch their breath, only their fingers touching.

Greg broke the silence.  “Wow, Myc.  Just… wow.”

Mycroft stifled a laugh.  “So, my… performance… was acceptable?” he grinned.

“Mmmmm.  Acceptable.”  Greg nodded. 

Greg sat up, and kissed Mycroft lightly on the lips.  I’ll be back in less than 10 minutes.”  Before Mycroft could protest, he’d disappeared into the loo, and turned on the shower.

* * *

Greg was true to his word – he had showered and cleaned up in 8 minutes – and when he came back to bed, Mycroft was very nearly asleep.  Greg climbed into bed next to him, snuggling up close.  Mycroft’s arm wrapped around him sleepily, and soon Greg was asleep, as well.

* * *

The next morning, Greg woke first.  He was still firmly wrapped in Mycroft’s arms, warm and comfortable.  He reached up and kissed Mycroft’s jaw.  “Mmmmm.  Good morning, Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, his eyes still closed.

“Good morning, Mycroft.  Did you sleep as well as I did?”

“I expect so.  This bed is far more comfortable than that lumpy old couch.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the only reason, too,” Greg’s voice fairly dripped sarcasm. 

Mycroft looked at Greg.  “Of course not, dear.  But the bed did play a key role, did it not?” he winked.

Greg untangled himself from Mycroft’s grasp and sat up, leaning on his elbow.  “I think I rather like the control-freak in you, Mycroft, love.  A bit of a turn-on.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  “Is it now?  Well, it’s not much of a role-play – it comes to me naturally, after all.”

“You can give me orders in bed any time you’d like, love.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Gregory,” Mycroft warned playfully.

* * *

It was late morning by the time the men finally crawled out of bed.  Mycroft made coffee, and they sat at the table.  “We really should head back today, Gregory,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“Yeah, I think so.  Donovan has probably royally pissed off the DCI by now.”  Greg took a big gulp of his coffee, and set it on the table.  “Mycroft, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, dear.”

“What changed?  You’ve been so hesitant, so uncomfortable with anything physical in our relationship.  Then last night, you were… “

“… like an over-sexed teenager?” Mycroft grinned.  Greg laughed, and nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps it’s the company.  Perhaps it’s being separated from life’s stressors for a little while.”

Greg snorted.  “If that’s the case, we’re coming up here every damn weekend.”

“Maybe not every weekend, but I expect more frequent visits can be arranged.”

Greg’s face fell.  “Wait a second… does that mean this won’t happen back in London?”

“Oh, I expect that if Anthea can keep things running while I’m out of reach in an isolated mountain cabin for several days, she can do so when I’ve locked you in my bedroom and pulled the battery out of my phone for several hours,” Mycroft grinned, his eyes twinkling.

Greg picked up his coffee.  “Now that sounds like a fun afternoon.”


End file.
